DAVID J CHRISTOPHER - WHAT GOES AROUND

"I expect you're right," replies Lucy.

"And even if she did catch the bus, and their paths crossed, the chances that Cokehead Kirsty saw her, or would recognise her, are tiny. It's only in films that those sorts of coincidences occur."

Lucy giggles. "Did you really call her Cokehead Kirsty?"

I shake my head. "No," I say. "Just Cokehead for short. Right, let's get going. We've got ten minutes until the bridge opens; we should be in Preveza by opening time."

"By the way," she says more quietly than usual, "you are doing so well today."

She means that it's now getting on for three in the afternoon and I have not touched a drop all day. Even at lunch I turned down the beer I was offered. If it wasn't so patronising, I'd be touched by her concern. I'm not going to be rude though.

"Thank you Lucy," I lie. "I'm not an alcoholic. I can take it or leave it, just that most days I choose to take it."

"Well, anyway, I'm proud of you today," she says as we pull up the anchor and head back out to the canal.

"I'm just going to turn the bikes around," I tell her. "Just chug slowly up to the bridge."

I pop down below. On my way to the sweetly scented lavatory I open a head high locker and pull out a flask. I take a quick nip of whisky. I've got to keep my strength up. At least it's not on an empty stomach like this morning, and it's less fattening than beer.

There are five or six boats waiting for the bridge to swing open and let us through. As always it opens a little late, today it's because the operator is waiting for the bus from Athens to arrive. The waiting boats have to stop dead, which isn't easy. They move fretfully backwards and forwards as the siren sounds indicating to the road traffic that they should stop. A line of boats heading south pile through first. Once we are past the bridge, and the deserted factory on my port side, I swing the boat sharply to the right and then to the left. Go too far either way and we will end up on the sandbanks that are dredged each year. In theory anyway. The view now ahead of us is spectacular. To our left is the open sea with Corfu forty miles or so to the north east. On the right bright yellow sandy beaches run for miles along the coast. Land looms ahead of us. It's the peninsular on which Preveza is built. As I thought, the afternoon breeze is a bit livelier out here blowing from the north west. I put up the sails and kill the noisy engine. The silence is broken only by the flapping of the strong fabric, and the splashing of the waves. There's always a bit of a swell out here, it's hitting us almost side on, so the boat is rolling from side to side.

"Great to be out at sea again," I say. "I bloody love it!" South of Lefkas is almost like a giant lake protected by landfall on three sides. Whereas here, North of Lefkas, there isn't very much to break up the waves between us and Italy. A few minutes pass before I look at Lucy. I'm too busy taking it all in. When I do, I can see that she's not enjoying this as much as I am. I imagine the gyros, the chips, the bread and the tzatziki are swilling around a little.

"Are you OK?" To me, my question sounds genuine even caring.

"I'll be fine," Lucy replies. "How long will this bit take?"

"A couple of hours, but as we get closer to the land the sea will calm down a bit."

"Lovely."

Fortunately, the direction of the wind means that I can keep the boat moving forward in the direction we are actually heading. I'm not sure that Lucy would enjoy it if we had to tack miles out of way to catch the breeze. She's not saying very much now. I realise how much she talks most of the time. I'm not complaining about the peace and quiet. It gives me a chance to think. I've moved from completely dismissing the notion that Helen might be in any sort of trouble, to entertaining it as a slight possibility. The Helen that I've become better acquainted with during the last twenty-four hours is certainly not the one that I thought lived in solitary retirement on Meganisi. The overelaborate alarm system she has on an island where the occasional goat theft is about as disorderly as it gets, is plain odd. A panic room is unusual too I would think. But then I'd never noticed that she was a walking Hatton Garden either. Mostly there was that necklace. I'd like to get a better look at that. Gradually the waves become less pronounced. I pick up the narrow channel that leads into Preveza through the otherwise shallow waters. "I'm going to go alongside the quay, up this end," I point towards my left side, "I think I see a space we can slip into. It's much quieter this end of the quay, away from all the restaurants, and an easy walk to all the action." A quarter of an hour later we are tying up between a large motorboat and a double masted yacht. Achilles is probably worth less than either of the tenders to these boats. Lucy is transfixed by the line of very expensive boats that line the quay.

"Most of the big boats come in here," I say. "It's a popular overnight stopover. Not many stay more than one night though."

As soon as the boat touches the wall, Kitty jumps ship. I'd kept her shut in at Lefkas, so she is bursting. She's headed across the road into some rough land opposite.

"About bloody time, only think about yourself don't you," she calls back at me.

"Will she be alright?" asks Lucy pointing to Kitty as she disappears.

"I hope so. A waste of cat food if she's not. Right, beer o'clock I think."

Lucy gives me her disappointed face that I'm getting to recognise.

"You didn't think I'd go the whole day without, did you? Bring your telephone." I point towards a cafe fifty metres towards the town with modern tubular steel tables and chairs, young people, and Ibiza music playing over the speakers. Not my type of place but it's close and it sells beer. Lucy joins me in a litre of ice-cold local lager.

"There is nothing better than that first swallow of the day," I say, taking another.

"Hopefully it will settle my head down a bit," replies Lucy, "is it me or is this cafe moving up and down?"

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